Perhaps It's What I've Become, Perhaps Not
by Sir-Shademan
Summary: A monologue by Rolf. Rolf talks At "Mist" about his feelings for her, his resentment towards her relationship with his brother, and the burdens of being a soldier. One sided Rolf/Mist, Boyd/Mist is apparent.


Short and Bitter. R&R, friends.

* * *

The things that don't add up to me. Or rather, the things my heart doesn't understand. But then again, perhaps…perhaps it just doesn't want to.

I've spent the last few years of my life racking my brain on the finer points of all these ugly feelings, but I never come out with anything. No answers, no resolution. Nothing. All the questions I've never known the answer to, and all the questions I'll never have the guts to ask.

First of all, I admit to everything, I admit to my resent towards my own brother, I admit to being in love with you and I admit to being too weak to do anything about it. But I still wonder, perhaps…

The day that we were captured, the day fear became so tangible in our eyes--or as I remember it, the day that I'd fallen in love. I remember holding back my tears, and you gave me this look—a look that I'd never seen before, and a look I'd never see again. The way your eyes shone, it shattered my perception of the world, for the better or for the worse. At that moment, you were the perfect being, Mist. You were a shining, crystal statue among mounds of dirt. I had a feeling, I feeling I didn't know, and a feeling that would not soon go away.

Maybe I just wasn't lucky enough, because I could feel you slipping away from me, constantly, but we fought alongside each other in our first battle, and in many battles to come. You watched as I became a weapon, and I watched as you became closer to him.

Perhaps it was the innocence the two of us held. I wonder, Mist, does it frighten you to see an arrow pierce through the heart of another human? It frightens me, too. Do you prefer the swift hack of an axe into your enemy? It certainly seems that way.

I can't blame you. I watch, every single time, every single soldier I kill--the way they drop to their knees and gurgle as the blood spills out of their mouths.  
The dying men that fall before me…  
They flop around in their pools of blood like fish thrashing around for their lives.  
It disgusts me, does it disgust you too?

The blood on my hands I can never wash off.

These are the burdens I've chosen to take up. I can only handle them because I know that I'm protecting you. Each kill is one less sword that could cut your flawless skin.  
But you don't need my protection. You have _him._ Every time you were hurt, you ran to _him._ Why did we stop? Why did you grow so close to him, and so far away from me? Perhaps…perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

The reasons why it doesn't matter.

I know it isn't because he's stronger than me, but he _is _stronger than me. He wouldn't have cried that day. His eyes would've stared back with equal intensity, he would've made it an incredible moment, maybe if I'd been more like that, she'd be the one who can't forget that moment.

Is that why you ran to him, when you were sad? Maybe I'm not capable of comfort anymore. I've become a killer, a murderer. I think to myself about how many of them have families, wives, girls that _they_ were in love with, which _they _wanted to protect.

But none of these thoughts matter, the end result has always been and will always be the same.

I murder for a living. I've changed. If you can't love what I've become…

But _him_, he smiles as he cuts down those who threaten your life. Maybe it's his fire, his passion that draws you. Perhaps…perhaps, perhaps, perhaps...

The things that I can't wrap my head around.

I'll pierce the heart of thousands of enemies, but I'll never pierce yours. But perhaps…perhaps, perhaps perhaps…

Perhaps not.

I'll watch you marry him, and I'll watch your love with him blossom further. And you'll watch the weapon that I am become even more deadly, even colder than before...

The things I can't change.

Callously, with my dead expression, I'll draw back my arrow. Impersonally, I'll release it. Grimly, I'll watch it pierce my enemy's throat. Coldly, I'll stare at him as he chokes and dies in a mass of blood. Without any remorse, I move on to the next target, and it starts all over again.

Does that frighten you, Mist?

It frightens me, too.


End file.
